And he
wondered what strange instinct it could be that riveted the old
man's regards to that unrecognized woman.
At last, to Herbert's great uneasiness, Major Warfield turned and
commenced questioning him:
"Who is that woman in mourning?"
"Hem--m--that one with the flaxen curls under her bonnet is Miss
Day."
"I don't mean the girl, I mean the woman sitting by her?"
"That is--hem--hem--that is Doctor Williams sitting--"
Old Hurricane turned abruptly around and favored his nephew with a
severe, scrutinizing gaze, demanding:
"Herbert, have you been drinking so early in the morning? Demmy,
sir, this is not the season for mint juleps before breakfast! Is
that great, stout, round-bodied, red-faced old Doctor Williams a
little woman? I see him sitting on the right of Miss Day. I didn't
refer to him! I referred to that still, quiet little woman sitting
on her left, who has never stirred hand or foot since she sat down
there. Who is she?"
"That woman? Oh, she?--yes--ah, let me see--she is a--Miss Day's
companion!" faltered Herbert.
"To the demon with you! Who does not see that? But who is she? What
is her name?" abruptly demanded Old Hurricane.
"Her name is a--a--did you ever see her before, sir?"
"I don't know! That is what I am trying to remember; but, sir, will
you answer my question?"
"You seem very much interested in her.
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